Sitting down at my screen,
I prop up my elbow and lean.
Staring at the white sheet;
Clean, and without word.
Then I wait for the twitter of my muse;
My inspiration, my fantasy, my bird.
But as I search through my mind,
That creative spark I can’t find.
Cause she bloody well took a holiday!
It’s obvious by the vacant lot in my head.
Oh where are my characters, my lands,
Is this the writer’s block that I dread?
Course, I have to get her back,
I have tried everything to lure her.
From playing Bjork, to Lady GaGa,
A few of her favourite things.
I reached a point of desperation;
To play Celine Dion…or McCartney,
When he was with Wings.
So if you see my muse,
Flying; and soaring overhead.
Tell it there is an Aussie girl,
You know, the one who loves Spiders.
Who is stuck for inspiration,
So she can write again.
